A Shadow Black
by pucktofaerie
Summary: AU...When a blind woman is among the survivors, she's given a chance for a new life. But will she be a help or a hinderance to the survivors?
1. Day of Destiny

A/N: Greetings all. I've decided to do a massive overhaul on several of my stories. So this is the revamped version of 'Shadows in the Mist'. I've given it a new title, cause it's a virtually new story. I hope ya'll enjoy it.

_What a blind person needs is not a teacher but another self.---Helen Keller_

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own characters. Don't sue me--all you'll get is about $7,000+ in college loans.

Chapter 1: Day of Destiny

Noise. Screams and shouts, crackling fires, crashing waves. Too much noise combined with too many smells for Fiona to compute all at once. She opened her eyes, knowing it would do no good, but even the blank nexus that replaced her sight was better than the total blackness behind her eyelids. Fiona's hands shot out automatically, feeling the area around her, fingers and tactile senses telling her what her eyes could not. There was sand beneath her, and she could hear waves above the shouts. 'A beach,' Fiona realized. 'I must be on a beach.'

Somehow, that realization did not comfort her any. Fiona wasn't sure why, but she was certain that she was not supposed to be on a beach. The blind woman sat up slowly, testing her limbs, before rising to a crouch. She brushed her hands through the sand in the area surrounding her in a vain attempt to find her cane. When her search failed, Fiona pushed herself up to her feet. She didn't know where she was, but she had a feeling that she couldn't just stay there.

Her arms stretched out at waist level, Fiona took a tentative step forward, then another. After a couple of steps her hands hit an odd-shaped twist of metal. Memories flooded back to her as she ran her hands along the metal carefully, walking parallel to it. The metal was warm to the touch, and Fiona's fingers had to tread lightly to avoid sharp edges.

After making her way around the first obstacle, the blind woman continued up the beach, dragging her feet in the sand to avoid tripping on debris. She headed out from the crash, trying to keep the loud sounds of the engines to her right. Fiona could feel strong winds pulling at her, though she wasn't entirely certain as to what the source was. She suspected that one of the engines was still running, a suspicion that gave her all the more motivation to keep moving.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the ground, and Fiona dropped into a crouch, ducking her head into her chest. She could feel the heat of various fires around her, and could only hope that she wasn't walking towards an inferno. As though to confirm her fears, the next piece of metal that she touched caused Fiona to jerk back her hands as soon as she brushed against it. The burning metal renewed the danger she was in by simply walking around. The plane had crashed, and it was obviously in pieces…Fiona was going to need help if she was going to stay safe.

The blind woman stood still as she tried to figure out what to do. A couple of people jostled past her in their own shock and panic, but the third time she felt someone brush past her, she reached out and grabbed their arm. "Excuse me," she said quietly, her voice somewhat raw from the smoke. "Can you help me?"

Sayid looked first to the stranger's hand on his arm, then into the young woman's face. She was petite, standing just below his shoulder, and wisps of her dark hair were escaping the braid that ran down her back. She was young, only in her early twenties, and she spoke with an odd, almost whimsical accent that he couldn't quite place. For a moment, he stood there confused, unsure of what she needed, as she didn't appear to be injured, except for a gash across her right temple. Wide green eyes stared blankly past him, and suddenly he realized that the young woman was blind.

"What do you need?" he asked. Fiona smiled almost sheepishly.

"I can't…find my way out," she answered awkwardly, hoping he would understand. She wasn't entirely sure of what she asking to begin with; let alone how to phrase it. All she knew was that she couldn't stay where she was.

"Ah," Sayid answered after a brief moment. He glanced around the surrounding area, getting a grasp on the girl's predicament. "I understand." Her hand was still on his arm, grasping it with just a bit more pressure than was necessary, as though she was afraid that he was going to abandon her suddenly to figure out the maze of debris alone. He gently took her hand and intertwined her arm in his, patting her hand in reassurance. "Don't worry.

Fiona placed her left hand on his arm to stabilize herself a little bit more. Sayid led her slowly through the minefield of debris until they reached a spot that was relatively clear.

"Here we are," he said at last, releasing her arm, but still holding onto her hand as he looked around to double-check the area. "This area is fairly clear. You should probably stay put so that you don't get hurt."

Fiona opened her mouth as though to protest, but after a moment of hesitation closed it and nodded instead. "Alright." Sayid released her hand and turned to start walking back towards the crash.

"Wait!" Fiona's sudden call made him turn back towards the blind woman. "What is your name?"

After a moment's pause he answered. "Sayid. And you?"

"Fiona. Fiona Harper."

* * *

Time passed, as it always did. Fiona sat in her spot, listening to the intense bustle behind her. Many were still caught up in their individual states of shock, each dealing with what had happened in their own way. Fiona sighed. Somehow, once she had realized what had happened, the entire ordeal did not seem to faze her much. Perhaps she had simply endured enough in her life to harden her against disaster. Or perhaps it was just easier not to panic over things when one couldn't see them.

Someone came up behind her, and Fiona turned and tilted her head. She waited as they came up beside her. She suspected that the individual was male, and from the sound of their heavy shuffling, she would wager a rather large male.

"Yo, you're the blind chick, right?" Fiona lifted her head and "looked" in the direction of the voice. She wasn't sure who would have told the man about her, but someone must have pointed her out to him. Perhaps it was Sayid, she thought briefly.

"Well, I am blind, and I suppose one could call me a 'chick' if they so desired," she answered dryly. "My name is Fiona."

Though she couldn't see it, the man before her nodded. "Ri-i-ight. Call me Hurley." There was a beat of uncomfortable silence before Hurley seemed to recall why he was there.

"So…we've got chicken or lasagna."

Fiona tilted her head up, her brow knitted in confusion. Whatever she had expected to come out of Hurley's mouth, it hadn't been that. "Sorry?"

There was another moment of uncomfortable silence. "Oh, right. Sorry. Uh, meals, you know…from the plane? They're not cooked, but they can't be worse cold than they were heated."

The blind woman nodded in understanding. "No, I suppose not." She took a deep breath, pursing her lips in thought. "Chicken sounds good," she said with an amused smile. Hurley nodded, and she could hear the crinkling o aluminum as she lifted her hands palm up. Hurley awkwardly placed the meal in her hands, carefully balancing a set of plastic silverware on top. He straightened and turned to leave.

"Thank you, Hurley," Fiona said kindly, genuine gratitude in her voice.

"No problem. Enjoy," Hurley answered, before going off to continue distributing food. Fiona sighed and felt the edges of the container in her lap carefully before ripping off the aluminum covering.

* * *

Fiona shivered as night fell on the beach, her short sleeve shirt doing little to protect her from the cooling air. She could smell burning wood and smoke behind her and to her left; at least one bonfire was burning. With a sigh, the blind woman rose to her feet, too stubborn to wait for help. Fiona had had enough help for one day; something in her needed to achieve this one little thing on her own. Slowly, she began to make her way towards the fires, hands spread out as before, dragging her feet in the sand to try and avoid tripping.

The blind woman tried to remember the path that Sayid had used to lead her from the crash earlier, but almost immediately she could tell that debris had been moved and that the terrain was not as it had been earlier. And unfortunately, sand was sand, and it all felt the same under her feet. Nonetheless, Fiona managed to make her way a good distance up the beach towards the other survivors.

The closer she got however, the more difficult her path became. Smells and noises increased around her, confusing her sense of direction, and there were more obstacles in her path than before. As she paused to get her bearings, a familiar voice caught her ear, and she turned too quickly. Her foot caught on a piece of metal on the ground, and she fell to her knees, managing to catch herself on her palms.

Fiona knelt there for a moment, on her hands and knees, a sob catching in her throat. All of the stress and shock of the day was starting to catch up with her, and she pounded a fist on the ground in frustration. She hated this. Fiona Harper was too independent and too used to being able to take care of herself to have to depend on strangers for her basic needs. She just couldn't stand the possibility of having to be led around by the hand like…like a blind person.

A scoffing huff left her throat as Fiona pulled herself to her knees. She brushed the sand from her hands before running her hands over her hair, smoothing back some of her runaway wisps. Taking a deep breath, she swept her fingers over her face, rubbing away the tears that threatened to escape. Carefully, Fiona rose to her feet, prepared to try again. She could do this, she told herself. She had survived worse. She could do this.

As she readied herself to set out again, a call stopped her before she began. "Fiona!" The woman turned in the direction of the voice, recognizing its owner.

"Sayid," she answered as the Middle Eastern man approached her.

"You shouldn't be wandering around alone," he chided gently, mentally smacking himself for forgetting about the young woman. He took her arm and led her to where he and Charlie had been sitting.

Fiona smiled at him softly as he introduced her to Charlie and sat her down next to their fire. Perhaps she could do this after all.

* * *

The trio sat around their fire quietly, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. Fiona could practically feel Sayid brooding beside her, and she could understand the man's worry. It seemed as though someone should have found them by now.

Suddenly, Fiona leapt to her feet and spun around, facing the wreckage and the jungle. She took a hesitant step towards it before pausing, Sayid standing behind her. "What is it?" he asked in concern.

There was a moment of silence before the blind woman answered him. "There's something out there."

Before Sayid could ask her what she meant, a great crashing sound came from the jungle. Many survivors stood or looked at the jungle in fear as something knocked down trees in the jungle and an eerie roar filled the air.

Fiona knelt in the sand, one hand pressed palm down in the sand, feeling the ground vibrating from the creature's movements. She tilted her head, trying to discern what the creature could possibly be. Finally she stood in frustration; not only was the sand a poor conduction for the pulsations that told her where the creature was, but it didn't sound or move like any jungle animal she knew of. When Sayid started to move past her, Fiona stuck out her hand and took his arm lightly, following him a little closer to the others.

After a few tense moments, Fiona sighed in relief; the creature was moving away from the beach. It took a minute more before the rest of the group realized that they were safe, at least for the time being. As they made their way back to their respective fires, there was a sense of unease among the group. There was something not quite right about this island.


	2. Guardians of All Kinds

A/N: So, here's chapter 2. Hope it gets a better response than chapter one. Come on, I know you guys are out there. Just let me know what you think. Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Fiona is the only thing that is a product of my imagination.

_It is wonderful how much time good people spend fighting the devil. If they would only expend the same amount of energy loving their fellow men, the devil would die in his own tracks of ennui._

_-Helen Keller_

Chapter 2: Guardians of All Kinds

The morning's dawn served only to alleviate some of the survivors' unease, but proved to not bring the joy of rescue. Fiona awoke feeling slightly confused, till she smelled the ocean air and heard people moving near her. She sat up, automatically feeling next to her for her cane. It took her a moment before she remembered that her cane had been lost in the crash, much to her distress. It was hard enough being stranded with a bunch of strangers, but to not even be able to move around without assistance was simply humiliating.

Fortunately, the wind had shifted, blowing in from the sea, bringing with it a fresh, cool scent. It was a pleasant change from the smell of burnt flesh and charred metal. Fiona lifted her chin and inhaled deeply, allowing the gentle breeze to cleanse her olfactory sense of the offending odors that lingered with the plane crash. The blind woman undid her braid and ran her fingers through her dark hair, ruffling it free from its plait and allowing the wind to play with her long tresses.

Sensing someone approaching, she tilted her head to the left and smiled softly. "Mr. Locke," she said as the older man sat next to her. "I had hoped you were alright."

John Locke looked mildly surprised at her statement. "How did you know it was me?" he asked. The blind woman only smiled elusively.

_The flight attendant looked at the young woman in front of her and smiled sympathetically, though she knew that the woman couldn't see it. "Hello Miss Harper," she said sweetly, placing her hand on the woman's arm. "My name is Jenna; I'll assist you to your seat." Jenna gently took the ticket from the woman's hand and began to lead her down the corridor where flight #815 was waiting. _

"_Thank you, Jenna," Fiona Harper replied, allowing the woman to guide her. Fiona's cane tapped out a steady tempo in front of her. _

"_Why are you traveling to the States?" Jenna asked, making pleasant conversation to fill the empty silence. _

"_Visiting family," Fiona replied automatically, as though the answer was preprogrammed. Finally, they arrived to her seat._

"_Here we are, Miss Harper," Jenna said. "You're in the second seat. I hope you enjoy your flight. Please don't hesitate to ask a flight attendant if you need anything while you're on board."_

"_Thank you," Fiona answered as Jenna walked away. She slid her fingers over the seats to the right one before carefully sitting down. Folding up her cane and sitting it in her lap, she tilted her head to the side as she heard people coming down the aisle. They stopped awkwardly at her row._

"_Here we go. Here's your seat," a strange male voice said. There were sounds of shuffling around as someone seemed to fall heavily into the aisle seat next to her. _

"_I'll get your bag sir. If you need anything, just push the call button." _

"_Thank you," answered whoever was now occupying the seat next to Fiona. The people in the aisle walked back towards the entrance of the plane, leaving the two in silence. _

"_And how are you, sir?" John Locke looked over at the young woman sitting beside him, her head tilted in his direction and eyes staring blankly past him._

"_Been better," he admitted as he dropped the information card on the floor and bent over, realizing that he couldn't reach it. He sat back in his seat with a huff, when surprisingly, a white cane slid past his legs to feel for the packet on the floor. John looked up to see the blind woman clumsily pushing the packet back in his direction, before reclaiming her cane and folding it again in her lap. John reached down for the packet again, this time picking it up with ease. Just as he tried to find the appropriate thing to say to fill the awkward silence, the young woman saved him from further embarrassment by speaking first. _

"_Flying is always an adventure for me."_

After a moment Fiona tilted her head toward the older man, slight confusion playing on her features. "You smell like oranges," she said in a playful accusatory tone. John smiled, and a moment later Fiona felt something drop into her lap. She picked it up, only to smile at the familiar texture under her fingers even as she lifted it to her nose. Inhaling deeply, the blind woman closed her eyes in the bliss of the fruit's tangy sweet smell.

"I found some fruit trees not far into the jungle," John said, answering Fiona's unspoken question. The woman played with the orange in her hands, his comment raising another thought to her mind.

"I know that we're on a beach," she started slowly. "But…what else is there?"

John looked over at the blind woman beside him as she cocked her head in his direction. He looked up and around them, taking in details of their surroundings in a sense that he hadn't before. "There's jungle several yards behind us. "A valley; some mountains further inland."

Fiona nodded. "I thought I smelled foliage. It was hard to tell with the smoke and everything." Silence fell again, and this time neither did anything to lift it.

_The plane trembled as it hit the turbulence. Fiona gripped her armrest tighter and clutched her cane in her other hand. Suddenly, a great roar filled the air and there was a sickening ripping noise, as though a giant had grabbed the plane and was taking it apart._

"_What's happening?" Fiona shouted over the roar and the screams. John Locke looked at her, bewildered, before realizing that the girl couldn't see the oxygen mask dangling in front of her. He grabbed her mask and put her left hand on it while he pulled the strap back behind her head. Then he scrambled to put on his own mask. He watched Fiona's head dart from side to side, her milky green eyes wide in confusion and fear. He wished that he could comfort her, but he couldn't talk. After a moment's hesitation, he did the only thing he could; he grabbed her hand just above the wrist in held on tight as he could as all hell broke loose around them. _

* * *

"Fiona!" The girl stood and turned in the direction of the voice.

"Sayid," she answered. "How are you?"

The Middle-Eastern smiled at the girl's properness. "I have something for you," he said. Sayid gently took Fiona's right hand and wrapped it around something that was hard with a soft covering. Fiona picked it up and realized almost instantly that it was a long stick. It came up to her chest standing straight, and the end that Sayid had placed her hand on had cloth wrapped around it.

"I found it on the outskirts of the jungle. It looked long enough to serve its purpose," he said. Fiona felt tears well up in her eyes.

"Sayid, I…thank you," she said, hardly trusting herself to speak. "You have no idea what this means to me."

He smiled, and placed a hand on Fiona's shoulder. "Well, at least now you can get around the beach without hurting yourself." With that, Sayid patted her shoulder and turned to leave.

Fiona simply smiled, tears beginning to break free from their glistening prison as she ran her fingers over the gift, her fingers telling her what her eyes could not. The smooth wood was bumpy under her hands, the branch not being stick-straight. She guessed that it was some sort of bamboo, though she couldn't know for sure.

Fiona held on to the end wrapped in cloth, and placed the other end on the ground, experimentally taping it around her. It was a bit of a struggle to tap it on the sand, but she managed to get by gliding it just over the sand's surface. Fiona sighed happily, feeling as though her freedom had been restored. Without her cane, it had felt as though she had lost her legs. She took off down the beach to explore the surrounding area. Fiona Harper was sick of staying put.

* * *

The sounds of a fight caught Fiona's attention in a way that few things could. Flesh meeting flesh and the carnal sounds of men beating each other were not things that one easily forgot. Using her newly acquired cane, she hurried towards the sound, recognizing the voice of the southern man she'd heard earlier and…was that Sayid?

It sounded as though someone had been unsuccessfully trying to break up the fight, and clearly shouting at the men was not working. Fiona pushed her way through the crowd, until she was within the circle that had formed around the fight. Pausing briefly to figure out where the fighting men were, she took a deep breath, before jumping into the fray herself.

Using her cane, she swept the feet out from under one of the men (she couldn't be sure, but she thought it was the Southerner) and hit him in the chest to keep him down. Turning she pushed the other man back with the end of her cane as he tried to pounce on the one on the ground. 'Definitely Sayid,' she realized. Behind her, she heard the other man rise and charge at them. The blind woman swirled round and blocked his wide punch, before dropping to the ground to kick his feet out from under him again. As she did she heard others run up to restrain the men.

"That's enough!" she growled, as more bodies were added to the shuffle. The fighters were gradually restrained and separated from each other, though various insults were still being traded back and forth. Fiona took a step back to let the others handle the men as a new male voice demanded to know what was going on.

"My kid found these in the jungle," answered another man. There was a tinkling of metal as some item exchanged hands. Fiona cocked her head as she listened to the conversation, trying to figure out what was going on.

"And this guy was sitting in the back row of business class the whole flight. Never got up," the Southerner interjected. "And for some reason—I'm just pointing this out—the guy I saw next to him didn't make it."

"Thank you so much for observing my behavior," Sayid retorted.

"You don't think I saw them pull you out of line before we boarded?" Fiona's brow crinkled at this, but she tensed as it sounded as though another fight was about to break out. Fortunately, another strong female voice halted any further action, asking for help with the transceiver they had found. With a sigh, Sayid offered his assistance.

"Oh, great! Let's trust this guy!" The Southerner shouted.

"Hey, we're all in this together, man. Let's treat each other with a

little respect," Hurley protested. Fiona smiled at his sentiment; things certainly would go smoother if everyone could just try and get along.

"Shut up, lardo!" was the sarcastic reply. Fiona rolled her eyes, and before anyone could do much else, she strode forward and whipped her cane across the southerner's face, knocking him to the ground. The crowd fell silent as he reached up to touch the spot where she'd struck him in shock and looked up to see his attacker was the petite blind girl he'd seen earlier.

"Sir," she said in a low, calm voice. "I highly suggest that you calm down." With that, she walked away from the others, heading back down the beach. She'd had enough of their dramatics for now.

As she walked away, the other survivors stared at her in surprised silence. Most of them had noticed the blind girl wandering the beach, but few had spoken with her. Certainly no one had expected her to be capable of what she'd just done. "Dude," Hurley said, breaking the silence. "Someone remind me to _never_ piss that chick off." A few nodded in agreement, and several paces up the beach, Fiona smiled.

* * *

Excited shrieks drew Fiona's attention as she neared the end of her stretch of beach. She headed towards the sound—the person sounded happy, and she was in the mood for some good news. "Everything alright?" she asked as she came up beside them.

"It's great!" answered a young Australian woman. Fiona thought that she sounded to be about the same age as herself. "My baby moved! He started kicking again!"

Fiona smiled as she stepped closer, her cane hitting something in her path. Holding out her hand, she touched what felt to be a chair from the plane. In an odd way, that made sense—the woman had sounded as though she were on the ground. Feeling around carefully, she ran her fingers over the seat before lowering herself into it. The woman looked up from her stomach and over at the newcomer next to her, only then realizing that the girl next to her was blind, and someone who she had not met.

"I'm Claire," she greeted, rubbing her stomach.

"Fiona." The young woman smiled and tilted her head in Claire's direction. "So, you're…pregnant?" she guessed. Claire smiled and nodded happily.

"Yeah. I was a little worried, cause I'd hadn't felt him move since the crash. But he's started kicking again, so…I guess he's okay!" Claire radiated happiness. "Do you want to feel?"

Fiona smiled and extended her hand, allowing Claire to position it on her stomach. After a moment, the blind woman smiled. She could definitely feel powerful little kicks coming from inside.

"He's certainly energetic," she said with a laugh. Claire nodded, and they broke into giggles.


	3. The Sound of Death

A/N: Here's chapter three. Many thanks to the one person who's bothered to review this story—don't know what's wrong with ya'll, but whatever. Hope you enjoy!

_To the blind, all things are sudden._

_-Old saying_

Chapter Three: The Sound of Death

Fiona sat on the beach, idly swirling designs in the sand with her finger, bored out of her mind. She wasn't used to being still for so long. In Australia, she was always going somewhere or doing something, and sitting around feeling useless was not something that she enjoyed. John was off doing something or another; she hadn't bothered to ask. It was none of her concern.

Someone was approaching her hesitantly, taking a few steps and then stopping, as though afraid to continue. Their shuffling dance continued a few yards from her left, weaving up and down the beach. Fiona smiled when she identified the gait and held her hand out to the newcomer.

"It's alright, Walt. I'm not going to bite you," she called. The boy froze in his tracks and after a moment's hesitation, sat down next to the young woman on the sand. Mr. Locke had asked him to keep her company for a little while, assuring him that she was as interesting as anyone else on the island. After seeing the young woman kick butt earlier, he was eager to learn more.

"What're you doing?" he asked, ignoring her unusual identification of him. Fiona smiled grimly.

"Attempting to prevent myself from going mad in boredom," she answered. "Have you had any luck in finding your dog?"

Walt looked down sadly. "No. Mr. Locke said that he would keep an eye out for him though."

Fiona nodded. "Well, I'm sure that if anyone can find your dog, Mr. Locke can."

"Yeah." The two sat in silence for a few moments, before Walt asked the question that had been on his mind since Mr. Locke had told him about the woman. "What's it like being blind?"

Somehow, Fiona had been expecting that question from the boy. "It's not as bad as you may think. I merely…see the world in a different way."

"What do you mean?"

At this Fiona paused, taking a deep breath, and searching for the right words. "Well…close your eyes." Walt hesitated for a moment, then did as he was told. "Are they closed?"

"Yes."

"Can you still see me?" Walt peaked open one eye, wondering if she was serious, but quickly closed it again.

"No," he answered, sounding a little sarcastic.

"Of course not. So how do you know that I am still here?"

"Well…I can hear you."

"Exactly. If I were to get up and walk away, you would be able to hear me leaving. If you kept your eyes closed long enough, you would realize that you not only hear me, but smell me and…sense me as well. Does that answer your question?"

Walt opened his eyes and looked up at the woman, impressed at his new knowledge. "Yeah."

"Good." Fiona faced towards the sea again and sighed.

"So, what kind of stuff did you do in Australia?"

Fiona smiled at Walt's endless array of questions. "Oh, I did all sorts of things."

"Like what?"

Fiona raised her head, facing the sky, and tapped her chin with her finger. "Well…I went to work, and I volunteered at a center that trained people who were newly blind. My particular favorite pastime, however, was my martial arts class."

Walt's eyes widened. "Really?" He sounded impressed.

Fiona laughed. "Yes. I'm really quite good, or at least that's what my instructor has told me. Even he has reached the point that he is hesitant to fight me."

"Wow." Walt looked with new respect at the young woman. He knew she was good, but he hadn't thought she was _that_ good. Fiona thought for a moment, before "looking" down at the boy next to her.

"Walt, tell me about the jungle."

He looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Describe it to me. What do you see?"

Walt peered behind them to the outskirts of the jungle. "I don't know. There's trees, and all kinds of different plants. It's just…jungle."

Fiona smiled patiently. "Do you see any plants that have…long, thin leaves on them? Perhaps curved slightly, like a banana?" She waved her hands out in front of her, as though trying to sculpt a picture out of the air. Walt turned again and peered harder at the jungle.

"Yeah. I guess so."

The woman nodded and smiled. "Good. Now tell me, do you think you could find us a small bag or satchel that no one is using?"

Walt thought for a moment. "I think I could find one."

Fiona's smile blossomed full force. "Excellent. Would you like to help me with a little project?"

* * *

An hour or so later, Fiona sat contently on a log, thrilled that she was now doing something productive. With Walt's help, they had gathered up a bunch of leaves like the ones that she had described, and she was now weaving them together into mats. Walt had sat by her side for awhile, but as she completed mats, he would take them and distribute them to anyone who wanted one. After awhile, his father had collected him, and Fiona was left on her own. John had joined her at some point, as well as the young musician Charlie she'd met earlier. 

Fiona sat working on her mats as John whittled on his stick, which he was attempting to work into a whistle. Charlie was doing something with a permanent marker; she didn't know what it was, but it stunk to high heaven. As John blew off a few shavings, he looked his finished project over before testing it.

To his surprise, the blind woman at his side winced and rubbed her ear as though the noise had pained her. John looked at her, puzzled. The whistle was not as high-pitched as normal dog whistles, and it was still within the range of human hearing, but it wasn't high enough to hurt someone.

"I would thank you most kindly to _not_ do that ever again," she said, ever so slightly annoyed. Charlie pushed back his hood and looked at her.

"What's the matter? It wasn't _that_ loud."

Fiona 'looked' in Charlie's direction. "My hearing is more sensitive than most peoples," she answered simply. "It's much sharper. It has to be, to compensate for my sight."

"Oh," Charlie said, before turning his attention back to his fingers. To be honest, the blind woman unnerved him a bit.

John looked at Fiona apologetically. "Sorry," he said.

She smiled patiently. "It's alright. Just…don't do it again. At least not around me." John nodded.

"Deal."

* * *

The beach resounded with the screams of the dying marshal. Many of the other survivors were quiet, unnerved by the sound of a slow, agonizing death. Fiona stood alone several paces away from the wreckage. She was doing what she always did when she was distressed—her martial arts form. In class, she practiced with another person. But over the years she'd developed a practice form that was a combination of Tai Chi and her judo exercises. 

Eyes closed, Fiona moved slowly and gracefully, utilizing her cane as a part of her form. She tried to remove herself from her surroundings, and block out the painful noises that were bringing equally painful memories to the forefront of her mind. Without meaning to, her movements became sharper, more focused, as long forgotten events struck her in full force.

_A young Fiona opened her eyes, the very act of breathing a painful trial. Confused, she blinked several times, but the result was the same—she couldn't make out anything around her. She swallowed hard and trying not to panic. Something was moving near her. "Papa?" she called roughly. Her only answer was a painful scream. "Mum?" _

"_Stay there, Fiona," her father said. "Don't move." She couldn't think of why she would move. She wasn't even sure that she could move, until she wiggled her fingers and toes just to make sure that she could. Her right leg hurt, but other than that, and her sight, she didn't think she was hurt anywhere else. Another agonizing scream tore through the brush, and Fiona could hear her father murmuring softly to someone. It must be her mother._

"_Papa?" she called again. "What's happening?"_

Fiona breathed heavily through her nose as she continued to move; the marshal's screams sounding eerily like her mother's all those years before. She couldn't help but fear that his fate would be the same as Amile Harper's had been. For now she could only hope that his agony would end soon.


	4. The Game is On

A/N: Hello duckings! Sorry it's been so long since my last update—my muse has been finicky lately, but moving back to school is helping. I've added a couple of extras to Ch. 2, including a flashback, so you may want to check it out. Anywho, enjoy!

_Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved. -Helen Keller._

Chapter 4: The Game is On

John Locke found Fiona sitting cross-legged on her handmade mat, cane sitting in her lap, apparently doing breathing exercises. He sat down next to her on the sand and waited for her to acknowledge his presence. After a moment she cocked her head to the side and gave him a small smile. "John."

"Fiona." The older man smiled as she stretched and turned slightly toward him.

"Is everything alright?"

I found Vincent. Michael's off reuniting him with Walt."

Fiona smiled. "Good. It'll give Walt something to take his mind off of our current predicament. And I'm glad to see that that horrid whistle served its purpose."

John laughed. "Yeah, that it did." He watched as Fiona absently ran her fingers over the mat under her. He studied the woven material curiously; he'd seen Fiona working on them earlier, expertly weaving leaves together to form a thicker, sturdier material. The finished product resembled things that he'd seen various native groups make for their own comfort and survival. Though he was still curious as to how a blind woman had come across such a skill.

"Where did you…learn how to do that?" he asked, gesturing at the mat. Fiona turned her head away, 'looking' down at the ground. Her entire demeanor turned somber, and John wondered what he'd said wrong. After a moment, Fiona took a deep breath to answer him.

"My father… was an anthropologist," she started slowly. "My mother was a writer. We spent time with numerous native groups in the jungles of South America and the Pacific Islands. My father would do research into their cultures and my mother collected the stories and fables that had been passed down." A sad, nostalgic smile crossed her face. "I've probably spent more than half my life in one jungle or another." She raised her head in the direction of the ocean, taking a deep breath and letting the cool scent wash over her. "They're both dead now," she added softly, almost more to herself than to John.

The older man watched her carefully, an unreadable expression on his face. John could certainly empathize with her; he'd never even known his parents. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Fiona looked up towards the sky. "It's going to rain," she said. He looked up at the darkening sky, and sure enough, a few moments later, rain started pouring down from the heavens. Instead of running for shelter, however, they both just sat there, enjoying the deluge.

* * *

Fiona woke up to the sounds of Vincent's barking. She frowned as she pushed herself up. While she was certainly in favor of Walt getting his dog back, she hoped that this sort of behavior wasn't going to be a regular occurrence. Then she realized that the animal was barking _at_ something. Underneath the barking and the growing murmur of people waking up, a familiar growl caught Fiona's attention. Standing, she grabbed her cane and walking slowly towards the sound. It was coming from the fuselage, which made perfect sense as she realized what it was that she was hearing. Upon that realization, Fiona froze in place, even as she heard other survivors heading towards the sounds. 

"They shouldn't be doing that," she said to herself. By this point, it seemed that a decent number of people had been woken by the noise, and had slowly gathered closer and closer to the fuselage. After a few moments, the growls erupted into terrified squeals, and the animals began to run out onto the beach.

Everyone close to the fuselage began panicking and screaming, running for safety. Fiona didn't move, standing perfectly still, her cane placed firmly in the ground. A few people jostled past her in their haste, but she still didn't move. Finally, the confused animals ran off into the jungle, much to the relief of the humans on the beach.

"What the bloody hell was that?" she heard Charlie ask. Fiona 'looked' over at John, who was standing a few feet away from her.

"Boars?" she asked, to confirm her suspicions. He nodded.

"Boars."

* * *

Panic was beginning to descend on the crowd as the realization came that all of their food was gone. Fiona was not worried; she knew better than anyone how to survive in a place like this. As everyone began to go their different ways, she headed down the beach where she figured John would be the mostly likely to be. It wasn't long before she caught him. 

"You have plan?" she asked, having overheard talk of his wanting to go after the boars. Locke shrugged slightly, looking off in the distance as though envisioning his work.

"I figure it'll take three of us to do the job; two to distract the mother while I go for one of the piglets. Kate and Michael have already volunteered," he answered, bending over to pull out one of his knives.

Fiona cocked her eyebrows slightly. "Just so long as you're careful. The piglets will never be outside the sight or hearing of the mother, even when it appears that they're alone. It would be better if you had spears though; boars really aren't the sort that you want to go up close and personal with."

John smiled at her concern. "I do know what I'm doing," he answered. "You don't have to worry about me."

"I'm not worried," Fiona retorted. "It's just that…I've seen many young warriors return from a hunt gorged by boars. It's not a pretty sight.

"Be safe," she added after a moment, before patting his arm and walking away. She certainly wished him all the luck in his endeavor.

* * *

Fiona emerged from the jungle, a few pieces of fruit in her hands. She'd found a couple of trees not far in, probably the same ones that John had come across earlier. Though Fiona was competent with her skills in the jungle, she had been careful not to lose the sounds of the beach. It certainly wouldn't do for her to get lost out there. 

Walking towards what she was coming to think of as 'her' end of the beach, the blind woman heard Claire's voice, along with Sayid's. The man was heading away as she approached, so she focused on the pregnant girl.

"Claire!" she called. The girl looked up and shielded her eyes from the sun. "What are you doing?"

"Hey Fiona," Claire answered. "I'm just…trying to find some things for the memorial."

"Ah," Fiona answered, nodding. She'd heard something earlier about that. After a moment, she held the hand with fruit down towards the woman's voice. "Want some?"

Claire looked up in surprise and took an orange gratefully. "Thank you!" she said. "Where did you find these?"

"A little ways in," Fiona said, gesturing towards the jungle. Claire nodded. Pausing awkwardly, Fiona shifted her cane under her arm and knelt in the sand. "Is there anything I can do to help? You know, with the memorial?"

* * *

News of the returning hunting party quickly spread across the beach. Most of the news wasn't good; not only had they not caught anything, but Michael had been injured and the bald man simply hadn't come back. Fiona felt her breath catch when she heard the news (which was, like most of her information, learned by overhearing others talk about it). She and John had been spending a lot of time together; he was one of the few survivors who actually talked to her. That, and for some reason, simply having had some contact with each other prior to the crash had given them some sort of foundation for a friendship. But Fiona had really been enjoying talking with him. 

With a heavy sigh, the blind woman stood and headed down the beach. She could never stay still when she was upset. Fiona found herself drifting towards the jungle, though she didn't actually cross over into it. Passing the fuselage, she could hear people preparing it for the service; it was almost ready, and night was rapidly approaching.

Further down the beach, something odd caught her attention. Fiona froze, lifting her head to the wind and sniffing the air. There it was again, the strong scent of blood. Confused, she cocked her head as sounds joined the scent. Someone was moving towards her, and they seemed to be bearing a heavy load. A moment later, Fiona smiled, as she recognized the owner of the sounds. John Locke emerged through the brush a few moments later, a triumphant grin on his face. Fiona merely smiled in his direction, before continuing on her way.

* * *

The memorial service was a sad, somber event. Fiona stood next to Claire as the heat of the blaze burned her back, holding some of the effects that Claire would be reading from. Her cane was tucked under one arm, and as Claire would finish with one set of documents, Fiona would hand her a few more. Each name brought a new wave of sadness, if only because there was so little to be said about each person, and the knowledge that if they ever made it back to the real world, more than twenty families would be without the remains of their loved ones. 

Fiona smiled sadly as Claire spoke about the young couple she'd observed on the plane, the ones whose love had prompted Claire to organize the service in the first place. A new sadness hit her at the same time; the thought that she would never be able to put faces with the names that she was hearing, along with the realization that this was the second funeral she'd attended in two months. As the service slowly closed, the blind woman couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before their own loved ones began preparing memorial services for them as well.


End file.
